


An Understanding

by shakti108



Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: 1980s, Angst, Humor, Long Hair, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-01 13:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16766014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakti108/pseuds/shakti108
Summary: Pillow talk was not Jon's thing. He liked to bask, in silence.





	1. Chapter 1

"Did you like the swirly tongue thing at the end?"

Jon blinked at the ceiling as he waited to catch his breath.

"What?"

He felt the bed shift just before Richie plunked his head on his chest -- facing away so all Jon could see was a tangled nest of sex hair.

"The tongue action at the end," Richie mumbled, in what he probably thought was a casual tone. "It was new."

Jon blinked again. "Did my orgasm not speak for itself?"

He pushed at Richie's head. "Move. I can't breathe with your giant head there."

Richie chuckled and Jon felt it in the bottom of his belly.

"And your hair smells." He pushed once more, half-heartedly.

After a moment, Richie rolled off and stretched out beside him. Jon glanced at his profile then returned to staring at the ceiling.

They'd had an understanding for almost three months now: When they were on the road and horny, with no suitable ladies available, they could take care of each other. Or even when those ladies were available -- because once they left, it kind of sucked to go to bed alone.

The understanding had really, really been working, as far as Jon was concerned.

The bonus of being with another guy, he'd quickly realized, was the glorious lack of talking. No shy touches, or time wasted on "Is this OK?" kind of questioning. They just knew.

It was possible that was the bonus of being with Richie, in particular. But so far, Jon had successfully avoided mulling that one over.

Things had changed, though, in the past couple weeks.

There was still little prelude to the sex. But out of nowhere, Richie had grown fond of post-coital surveys -- _Was the biting too much? I didn't mean to pull your hair like that. Was it OK?_ \-- and Jon wasn't sure what to make of it.

He knew, of course, that Richie was a people-pleaser, especially in bed. But this sudden uncertainty, this need for verbal assurance, was weird.

And annoying. Pillow talk was not Jon's thing. He liked to bask, in silence.

He side-eyed his bedmate again. Richie's eyes were closed, but his jaw was visibly clenched.

Jon sighed. "What?"

Richie remained still. "I didn't say anything."

Jon rolled his eyes. _Jesus Christ._

The truth was, he hadn't noticed any innovative tongue techniques. Probably because he'd been too busy losing his fucking mind. And wasn't that the whole point?

Jon was tempted to just end this by turning off the lamp and going to sleep. That was another advantage of being with a guy -- You could pull shit like that without any guilt. Right?

_Jesus Christ._

He turned onto his side to face Richie and propped his head on his hand. "The swirly tongue thing was awesome."

Richie kept his eyes closed, but his lips twitched. Jon smiled, partly because it wouldn't be seen.

"You're so dreamy," he added, in falsetto.

Richie finally turned to look at him. "Fuck off."

There was no malice behind it, though, and a moment later Richie grinned sheepishly. If Jon were sappier, he might acknowledge the little flip-flop that triggered in his belly.

For a hot second, he thought he was in the clear. But then the grin faded and Richie looked back to the ceiling.

"I just …"

"What?" Jon prompted, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

Richie sighed. "Never mind."

Jon sighed louder. "Never mind?"

"Yeah. Seriously."

Richie closed his eyes again and Jon just stared for a beat. That feeling in his belly was morphing, to something like a twinge of anxiety. And that was fucking annoying.

"C'mon," he said, vaguely wondering how he'd become the chatty one. "Tell me."

Richie tossed a forearm over his eyes. "Jonny, please."

Jon said nothing, so Richie peeked at him from under his arm. "I'm sorry I asked you to rate my tongue, OK?"

Then he reached out and rubbed his fingertips against Jon's scalp. Jon had always found that particular form of touch oddly soothing -- and Richie obviously remembered that.

"Just forget it," Richie pleaded. "It's embarrassing."

Jon considered pushing the issue, but he felt himself succumbing to reality. He was exhausted, and the feeling of Richie's fingertips was lulling him toward sleep.

"'Kay."

He felt the loss as the hand stilled then moved away.

Richie gave him a small smile. "G'night." He turned onto his side, away from Jon.

Jon turned off the lamp then flopped onto his back. He found himself staring at the ceiling again, even through the dark.

Then without knowing why, he flipped and wrapped himself around Richie's back.

It was awkward as hell, he realized right away -- and not just because Richie instantly froze. Jon had never spooned someone his size, and it was weird to not be the big spoon.

He couldn't help laughing out loud.

Richie's body tensed even more. "What?"

"Nothing," Jon lied. He ran a hand over Richie's stomach and gave him a tentative squeeze. "This OK?"

"Um…Yeah."

"'Kay."

There was a stretch of silence, and Jon thought Richie might have fallen asleep. But then he shifted a bit.

"I thought my hair smelled."

"It does," Jon assured him, then buried himself in a little closer.


	2. Chapter 2

"Jon? You hear me?"

Jon nodded before taking a swig of beer, never shifting his eyes from the sight across the room -- where some tall guy dressed like Stevie Ray Vaughan was talking up an equally leggy blonde.

Which was fine, Jon reminded himself.

"Then answer me."

He turned to see Lemma inches from his face, holding out a joint. "You wanna hit this or not?"

He did.

As Jon took a drag, Dave smiled in that way he had. "Why are you staring at them? He move in before you could?"

Jon passed the joint back. "Yeah," he said through a cough.

Dave briefly grimaced in sympathy, then shrugged. "She's hot and blonde. You know you gotta act fast to beat him in these situations."

Jon just nodded in return, and Dave laughed.

"Well, don't get morbid about it. You may not have noticed, but we're surrounded by beautiful women. And I think one or two might be interested in you."

"Yep," Jon agreed, then took another pull from his beer.

Dave was right. He was usually right, especially when it came to sex advice -- which essentially boiled down to, "Do it."

Jon scanned the small huddles of party-goers scattered around the hotel suite, looking for a certain someone who'd caught his eye earlier. He smiled when his target came into sight: Tall, legs for miles, flowing brown locks -- and tits.

God, he did love tits.

He clapped Dave on the shoulder. "I'm gonna look into that right now."

"Godspeed," Dave said, but Jon was already heading toward his prey standing near the balcony door. If she happened to be within Richie's line of vision, so be it.

****

"Soooo, how was she?" Richie asked as he flopped onto Jon's bed and interlaced his hands behind his head, like he was relaxing on the beach.

The essence of forced casualness, Jon noted.

He smirked as he sank into a chair and grabbed his smokes from the leather jacket he'd tossed there at some point in the frenzy of clothing removal.

"Who?" he asked innocently.

Richie snorted. "Uh, the seven-foot, double-D brunette you were hip-grinding with? About two feet in front of me."

"Ohhhh." Jon lit a cigarette. "As hot as she looked," he replied, consciously dialing up the smugness.

"Excellent." Richie crossed his ankles and started tapping a foot -- to add to the airy indifference, Jon assumed.

He continued smoking, knowing the lack of mutual interest was killing his friend. If there was one guarantee in this relationship, it was that Jon would always win a silence contest.

Predictably, Richie eventually let out a frustrated sigh. "You are so rude, man." He lifted his head a bit to look at Jon. "Yes, my girl was hot, too."

Jon exhaled a smoke ring, because Richie hated that corny shit. "What was her name?"

Richie let his head drop. "Rachel," he said to the ceiling. "Wait, no … Christina."

"Those two names aren't even similar," Jon pointed out.

Richie laughed. "At least I try." He kicked his heels against the foot of the bed. "Did you bother to ask for a name?"

"Nope," Jon answered truthfully. He didn't do it to be a dick. Sometimes it just didn't occur to him.

He stubbed out the cigarette then moved to stand over Richie -- who was clad in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, and obviously freshly showered. He might as well have arrived naked, to spare them both the trouble.

Jon furrowed his brow in mock confusion. "Did you come over to find out that girl's name?"

A little smile tugged at the corners of Richie's mouth. He pushed onto his forearms and slid up higher on the bed, which Jon knew was an invitation to hop on. But he refrained.

"Do you want her number?" he prodded.

Richie shook his head, the smile widening.

Jon bit the insides of his cheeks so he wouldn't smile back. "Then why are you here?"

Richie chewed his bottom lip for a moment, then tried to adopt a serious expression. "Can't sleep. I'm concerned about the Iran-Contra affair."

Jon couldn't help the little laugh that escaped. "Well, you've come to the right place then."

He climbed onto the bed to straddle Richie. "I can help," he promised before leaning in for a kiss -- a brief one, almost sweet, Jon thought.

But when he pulled back, Richie grimaced. "Your mouth tastes like ass."

Jon felt a flash of irritation, until he remembered who he was dealing with.

"Huh," he said, studying Richie's face. "How much experience do you have with that particular form of tongue action?"

Jon grinned in satisfaction as Richie's cheeks took on a delightful shade of pink. Richie averted his eyes and chuckled self-consciously.

"Um. Well …"

Jon kept grinning, but he also couldn't deny the heat building in his own face. And elsewhere.

All this time, they'd been strictly hand and/or mouth on cock -- because anything else would be crossing the Gay Line. That was their understanding. At least that's what Jon thought. They'd never said anything out loud.

He realized Richie was gazing at him now, with concern in his eyes. So Jon responded the best way he knew how. He ducked down to suck on that sweet spot above Richie's collarbone.

That earned him a wanton moan, and he was surprised at how his cock responded to the sound. Not even Miss Double D had gotten him going that quickly.

Jon snaked a hand under Richie's t-shirt and lightly grazed his fingernails over a nipple -- another move he knew would be appreciated. And judging by the hardness forming underneath him, he was right again.

Jon slipped his other hand under the shirt and just let himself feel the overheated skin as he continued to lay soft kisses along the length of Richie's neck. For a guy, Richie was pretty smooth, he had to admit.

_God, you'd be perfect if you had tits._

Without meaning to, Jon laughed at the image.

"What?" Richie demanded, breathless.

"Not important," Jon insisted, as he attempted to tug the t-shirt off.

But Richie refused to move his arms. "You're laughing as you take my shirt off. Excuse me if I wanna know why."

Jon groaned. His cock did not need this kind of delay. So he opted for quick-and-dirty honesty.

"I was thinking you'd be perfect if you had tits. Happy?"

Richie just stared for a moment. "Dude. That's fucked up."

Jon sighed in exasperation. "Yeah, yeah. I'm drunk, high and trying to have sex with my best friend. Gimme a break."

Richie shook his head, but -- to Jon's immense relief -- huffed a little laugh. "OK, point taken."

"Great."

With Richie's cooperation, the shirt was whisked off, and Jon's quickly followed.

_Fucking finally,_ Jon thought, as he melted into the sensation of skin on skin.

He felt Richie's hands slide under his waistband and begin to knead his ass, and he moaned at a volume that would've been embarrassing if he gave a shit.

He buried his head against Richie's neck again and softly bit down on his shoulder -- an action that clearly interested Richie's cock. Jon made a mental note.

Not that it mattered, he reminded himself. He wasn't trying to please Richie or anything. He was just trying to get off.

And then for some reason, Richie started talking.

"Y'know," he murmured, close to Jon's ear. "I've thought that, too."

Jon lifted up enough to see a dopey little smile. "What?"

"Just that you'd be perfect if …"

Jon sat up a little more and narrowed his eyes. "If what?"

Richie reached up and ran his fingers through Jon's chest hair. And Jon promptly swatted the hand away.

He realized that was probably the most girly reaction he could have. But he was self-conscious about that, and Richie fucking well knew it.

The bastard laughed. "Don't get mad. I'm just kidding, man."

_Kidding?_

"You pick now to complain about my body?" Jon asked incredulously.

Richie's eyes widened. "I'm not complaining. I was just …" He broke off and pointed at Jon accusingly. "Hey, you started it."

Jon sat up fully. "Are you ten years old? And what did I start?"

Richie pushed to sit. "You complained first."

Jon shook his head. "Unh-uh. No way. I complimented you, for fuck's sake."

Richie pulled a face. "When? Where was this compliment I missed?"

Jon sighed heavily. Then he spoke slowly, as if to a particularly dumb child. "I said you were two tits from perfect."

Again, Richie just stared. When he finally spoke, he used the same insultingly slow cadence. "Meaning, you'd rather be with what's-her-fucking-name."

Jon's mouth actually fell open. How the hell had Richie reached that conclusion?

Yeah, Jon had enjoyed her body -- because he was alive and breathing. But he never even considered having her stay the night …

And that was the first time it really hit him. He'd never even considered asking her to stay. Because he preferred to wait for someone else.

_Jesus Christ._

Jon felt his breath getting shallow, so he pursed his lips and blew out a long exhale. He noticed Richie was peering at him, the concern returning.

"Jon?"

Jon shook his head, as if he could literally untangle his thoughts. Richie started to lean toward him and he reflexively scooted back a bit.

"So what?" he heard himself say.

Richie said nothing, and Jon lifted his head to look him in the eyes. "So what if I'd rather be with her? That's how it's supposed to be."

Jon waited for a reply, but Richie just opened then closed his mouth. And for some reason, that pissed Jon off.

"What do you think this is?" he demanded.

Again, Richie's eyes widened and he looked like he was going to speak. But then he pressed his lips together and looked toward the window. Jon held his breath. He had no idea what he wanted Richie to say.

_No. That's a lie._

Richie just sat like that for what seemed like forever -- but was probably more like a minute, Jon knew. Then he cleared his throat and tilted his head toward Jon again, not quite looking at him.

"You're right," he said simply. "Sorry."

Jon felt his heart sinking. _Huh. That actually happens._

"I should go back to my room," Richie kept talking, already rising to his feet and reaching for his t-shirt. "I think we're both too wasted."

Jon nodded. "Yeah. Probably."

Richie quickly pulled his shirt on, talking the whole time. "We actually have to get up kinda early, too, so … We should sleep."

"Yeah."

"I'll see you at breakfast maybe," Richie said as he made for the door.

Jon nodded, even though Richie wasn't looking. He felt like he had to say something -- anything -- but he couldn't think of what.

"Hey," he said, just before Richie pulled the door closed behind him.

Richie paused, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"Um." Jon still had nothing. "G'night."

"Night, Jon."

And then the door shut.


	3. Chapter 3

"You gonna eat that?" Dave asked, pointing his fork at some pastry thing Jon had haphazardly tossed on his plate.

"Take it." Jon waved a hand and slumped back in his chair.

Dave speared his prize then looked at Jon with a smirk. "Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

"Nope," Jon replied, and it was the truth.

Dave waggled his eyebrows. "Totally worth it, I assume."

Jon exhaled a little laugh. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

Dave just studied him, chewing his food -- Jon's food. Then he shook his head.

"Man, what is up with you?"

Jon scowled. "Nothing. I just didn't sleep much… And you took my fucking pastry thing."

"No," Dave forged on. "You've been like this for days."

Jon sat up a little. "Like what? I'm fine."

"Yeah, you're a barrel of monkeys. A barrel of depressed monkeys."

Jon rolled his eyes. He did not have the energy for this. After Richie took off, he'd spent the rest of night just lying there, wondering how the hell everything had gone so ridiculously wrong.

And now he had a raging headache and just wanted to peacefully drown in a pot of coffee.

"Is it Richie?"

Jon looked up quickly. "Huh?" He could feel his heartbeat picking up.

Dave shrugged. "You guys have been acting weird around each other. And you seemed really pissed last night about that girl."

"I wasn't pissed," Jon insisted. "And what do you mean, 'weird'?"

Dave held up his hands. "Don't get mad at _me_ now. I dunno. You just both seem … kinda tense around each other."

Jon felt a heat building in his cheeks and wondered if it was visible. What was Dave picking up on? Before last night, he and Richie were fine. Normal.

_Just playing gigs and getting each other off. Normal._

Jon blew out a breath. He'd assumed the other guys had no idea. He and Richie had been careful. But maybe now the energy of this -- whatever the fuck they were doing -- was starting to seep into the rest of their lives.

Of course, Jon realized. It would have to -- especially if they were starting to fight over chest hair and hypothetical tits.

He tapped the side of his coffee mug. "Do Alec and Teek think something's wrong?"

Dave screwed up his face. "How should I know?"

Jon shook his head. He needed to talk to Richie.

"I'm goin' back to my room," he said, pushing to his feet.

"Hey, I didn't mean --" Dave began.

"No, it's cool," Jon cut him off. "I just hafta get my stuff packed. Feel free to eat any scraps."

Dave just eyed him, and Jon felt like squirming under the scrutiny.

"Seriously," he said, his voice sounding strained to him. "Everything's cool."

Dave gave a noncommittal shrug. "If you say so."

Jon set his jaw. "I do."

As he walked away, he vaguely wondered who he was trying to convince.

****

New city. Different hotel room. Same shit.

Jon flopped onto his bed and gazed at the ceiling, which looked shockingly similar to every other ceiling he'd stared at, in every other hotel room in every other city.

Detroit. That's what he'd been told. Fucking Detroit.

_The night life sucks, but it's a great place to get shot._

Jon sighed heavily. It didn't matter, anyway. He was in the mood to mope around his room, alone. He hadn't talked to Richie -- partly because he'd lost his nerve on the way to his room. And partly because Richie didn't emerge into the world until they were checking out.

Jon had noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and took a little grim satisfaction in that -- but not much.

He closed his eyes. If he didn't get some sleep before sound check his voice would be shit. But as tired as his body was, his mind wouldn't settle.

He was so wound up he almost jumped to his feet at the sound of knocking at the door. Especially since he knew that particular knock: Richie had a musical rhythm to almost everything he did.

Jon couldn't help smiling a little as he moved toward the door -- slowly, so he didn't seem too eager. He realized how lame that was. But that's what he'd become, apparently. A moody, lame mess who just wanted to get sucked off by his best friend every night.

When he opened the door, Richie was standing there looking down at his sock-clad feet. He peered at Jon from under his bangs and gave a soft, "Hey."

"Hey," Jon said, inwardly cringing at the forced breeziness in his voice.

"Were you sleeping?"

Jon shrugged. "I was trying to."

"Oh, I can --" Richie gestured down the hall.

"No," Jon said, probably too quickly. "I mean, it's fine. Come in."

Richie took the invitation, but stopped a few feet inside the door -- forcing both of them to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"So," Richie began, looking at a spot next to Jon's feet. "I, uh, just wanna say I'm sorry."

Jon instantly sensed a weight lifting from his body -- followed by a flutter in his chest that made him feel ridiculous. If he kept going on like this, he'd have fucking cartoon hearts popping out of his eyes soon.

"Naw, man," he said, trying to sound casual. "It was just a stupid argument. Probably the dumbest one we've ever had."

Richie smiled wanly. "Well … Actually, I think we needed it." He bobbed his head a little side to side. "I mean, maybe not the tits and chest hair part."

Jon narrowed his eyes. "Whaddaya mean?"

Richie looked down again. "You -- you called me out for acting jealous." He glanced at Jon. "And you were right. That wasn't cool. It's not like …"

Jon waited for him to finish the thought, but it was left hanging in the air.

"What?" he prompted.

Richie shook his head. "I feel stupid about the whole thing. That's all."

"What were you gonna say?" Jon pressed. "'It's not like' what?"

Richie sighed. "Just, you know" -- he waved a hand -- "It's not like we're … _together_ or something."

Jon felt the little flutter in his chest halt, and his mouth went suddenly dry. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if it was normal to have so many physical reactions. He couldn't remember ever feeling so uncomfortable in his skin before -- even when he was a dumb, hormone-driven teenager.

He didn't know what to say. What Richie pointed out was true, technically. But it was also becoming more and more clear to Jon that it was bullshit. What he couldn't seem to do -- what he didn't have the guts to do -- was call it bullshit, and deal with whatever came next.

When the silence stretched out, Richie licked his lips then gave a forced little laugh.

"I mean, you could have any woman on the planet. Probably half the men, too." He was babbling now, Jon realized. "There's nothing wrong with you wanting to be with that girl last night or … whoever."

Jon felt like he was deflating. "Rich," he began, but couldn't seem to find any other words.

Richie took a step back and ran a hand through his hair. "And not to brag or anything, but I do OK, too."

He flashed a smile, but it wasn't genuine. Jon wanted to call him on it, but still couldn't find his voice.

Richie started to look worried. "So … Are we OK?"

Jon wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. Even their version of "OK" was confusing to him now. But he knew he had to respond.

"Um, yeah, sure." He shook his head. "And it's not your fault, man. I was high and there was …"

"Hormones and shit," Richie supplied for him.

Jon smiled a little. "Yeah. That."

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments. Jon didn't know if he should ask Richie to stay, since they both needed sleep. But he also didn't want him to leave just yet.

So he scrambled for something to say. And that's when he remembered.

"Listen," he said, stepping closer to Richie. "I meant to tell you something."

Richie peered at him curiously.

"Dave and I were talking this morning," Jon went on, "and he said something kinda weird. He was asking if there's something going on between you and me."

Richie's eyes widened. "What do you mean 'going on'?"

Jon shrugged. "I don't think he meant that. But I guess we've been putting out some strange vibes."

Richie bit his bottom lip -- as he usually did when he was thoughtful, or nervous. "Do you think the other guys have noticed something?"

"I dunno."

Richie started pacing a little. "I mean, I always make sure no one's around in the hall when I come over." He paused and looked at Jon. "I swear, I'm careful."

Jon held up his hands. "I believe you."

He instantly regretted telling Richie. He should've known it would cause a mini freak-out.

Jon walked over to stand face to face with him. "Hey, I don't think it's a big deal. Really. I just wanted to let you know he was asking."

Then without thinking, he reached out to push Richie's hair back and cup his cheek. "He probably thinks we're fighting over a fucking song lyric."

Jon only realized what he was doing when Richie locked eyes with him. He quickly dropped his hand and took a half-step back.

It was fucking nuts, he knew, to be embarrassed over an innocent touch when he'd had his mouth on the guy's dick.

But he'd never touched Richie that way before -- at least not outside the boundaries of a hotel bed. And it somehow felt more intimate than anything they'd done with their clothes off.

Richie looked down and spoke to the carpet. "Yeah, you're right," he said in a rush. "And Davy's always been a nosy shit."

He glanced up. "I mean, I'm sure it's fine."

Jon nodded.

Richie scratched at an eyebrow. "Um. Maybe I should go. We both need to crash."

But instead of bolting, like he had last night, he looked at Jon and waited.

Jon swallowed. He didn't really want Richie to leave. But what was he supposed to do? Ask him to sleep there? They'd never shared a bed just to sleep. It seemed too weird to suggest.

So Jon nodded again. "Yeah, true." He smiled. "Go get some sleep, man, or you'll face-plant right off the stage."

Richie gave him a small smile in return, then left without another word.

That night, long after the show ended, Jon waited for Richie to knock. But he never did.


	4. Chapter 4

"You gonna eat that?" Dave inquired, pointing his fork at some sort of omelet thing on Richie's plate.

Richie flapped a hand at him, which David apparently interpreted as permission to snatch the plate and help himself.

Even though they were in a shaded area of the patio, Richie was wearing dark sunglasses. So Jon couldn't gauge whether he cared about the transgression. And then there was the fact that he was trying not to look at Richie too often, or for too long.

He'd tried lying to himself that morning. In the shower, he'd gone through a whole internal monologue on how he didn't actually expect Richie to come over after every show. They had an understanding, after all, that women came first, and either one of them could throw the other over for some hot pussy.

And they'd still be cool.

But then Richie arrived at breakfast, clearly exhausted from a long night of partying and -- in all probability -- fucking someone else. And Jon felt an unexpected anger flare in the pit of his belly.

And there it festered, as the other guys ate eggs and bacon, and laughed over their barely-remembered drunken shenanigans of the night before.

It was all giving him indigestion, so he decided to get down to business.

Jon cleared his throat. "So listen, guys."

He waited until Dave and Alec got their last cackles out and offered him their full, or at least partial, attention.

"Last night was pretty sloppy and I don't know why," Jon began, in full leader mode. "But we gotta tighten up. I at least wanna make sure we don't screw up _Prayer_ again tonight."

Their timing had been a little off throughout the show, but it was most glaring during that song. And, it so happened, the most obvious problem was when Richie fucked up with the talk box.

Richie pressed his lips together but otherwise didn't move a muscle. "It was just a fluke, Jon," he said evenly. "Don't worry."

"Well, I have to," Jon replied, with just as much exaggerated calm. "It's my job."

He took a sip of coffee. "And anyway," he added casually, "y'all look like you had a rough night. So I'm not too optimistic we'll just magically pull our shit together tonight."

Alec snorted. "That's why you need to go out _with_ us, man. You'd be too fucked up to care."

Tico nodded.

Jon smiled indulgently. "Well, I'm the one whose gotta lead -- and sing, by the way. So I needed to catch up on my sleep." He glanced across the table. "You sleep much, Rich?"

Richie just crossed his arms.

David chuckled. "I seriously doubt it. You didn't see the chick he hooked up with. Christ on a cracker, man."

"Yeah, congratulations, bro," Alec said, raising his bloody Mary in salutation.

Jon felt his gut clench. Sure, he'd figured Richie spent the whole night with someone. But having it affirmed … sucked.

Especially since he'd just waited alone, like some lovesick sap.

"OK, that's nice," Jon said, fighting to keep his emotions out of his voice. "But I don't really care about your hook-ups. I just want my guitarist to be on."

Richie huffed a humorless laugh. " _Your_ guitarist?" He leaned forward in his seat. "You don't own us, Jonny. We're allowed to go out, and even stay out late."

Jon noticed Dave looking back and forth between them. But his focus was on the man across the table whose eyes he couldn't even see.

"You can do whatever you want, Rich. I don't give a shit," Jon said, hoping the lie wasn't obvious to everyone at the table. "Until it starts affecting the band."

Richie sat back again. "Affecting the band? What are you goin' on about? I made a mistake. It happens -- even to you."

"Uh, guys," Dave intoned, with an awkward little laugh. "What's the big deal? We all had some little flubs last night. _Que sera sera,_ or what the fuck ever."

Tico nodded then pulled out his smokes.

"Fucking up our biggest song is not a little flub," Jon argued.

"Oh, please," Richie scoffed. "Get over yourself, man."

Jon felt the heat from his gut rising to his face. He knew he was being a first-class dick, but he was pissed -- and Richie was clearly the reason.

It was Richie who fucked up the song. It was Richie who apologized yesterday and acted like everything was fine. It was Richie who didn't come around last night. And it was Richie who kissed _him_ that night three months ago. He'd started this whole shit show.

"I don't need to do anything," Jon told him flatly. "I was fine last night. You screwed up."

This time Alec spoke up. "Jon, seriously. Lighten up."

Richie just shook his head. "Forget it, man. He's in a mood, so I hafta pay." He pushed his chair back and stood. "Later, guys."

Jon stared at his coffee mug as Richie stalked off. He sensed the other guys' eyes on him, but he couldn't acknowledge them. He felt like a fucking idiot, and that just made him more angry. So he did what his base instincts told him: He jumped to his feet and went after Richie to continue the fight.

When Jon got to the hotel lobby, he spotted him at the elevators and broke into a jog to catch up.

"Hey," he said, arriving at Richie's side and grasping his arm. "Wait a minute."

Richie shook him off. "Jesus Christ, man. Drop it."

Jon quickly looked around to see if they were making a scene, but no one seemed to be paying attention to the two long-haired dudes in ripped jeans. And Richie in one of his "shirts" with a neckline that started below the nipples. What the fuck even was that? It made Jon want to punch him.

When the elevator arrived they both stepped in, and Richie swore under his breath.

As the doors closed, he turned on Jon and got right up in his face. "What the fuck were you doing back there?"

"I think I was pretty clear," Jon replied, as coolly as possible. He'd never admit it out loud, but Richie's uncharacteristic anger was a little intimidating.

"No way," Richie insisted. "What were you really pissed about?"

Then he paused and looked down. "Were you actually trying to punish me for not … taking _care_ of you last night?"

Jon opened his mouth to respond, but found he had no words. He was taken aback by Richie's accusation. He wasn't trying to punish him for not being at his beck and call. He wasn't like that.

Was he?

The elevator stopped at their floor. When the doors opened, Richie held them and stood there, looking at him. Jon just stared back.

The elevator started making that fucking distress noise, and Richie shook his head again.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" he said. But there was no venom in his voice. He just sounded … disappointed.

Jon suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He took a step back.

"Do you think I'm one of your groupies?" Richie asked, and Jon saw a genuine hurt in his eyes that almost knocked him over. "Ready to drop to my knees whenever you're ready?"

Jon finally knew what to say. "No." Then he repeated, more firmly, "No, I don't think that. You know that's not …"

He was truly feeling like he might vomit. Right there in the fucking Hilton elevator.

Richie sighed, and looked down to the floor between them. "Then why is it," he said shakily, "I always have to come to you?"

Even if Jon could've answered, it wouldn't have mattered. Richie let go of the doors and they closed between them.

****

She was so fucking hot. And yes, she was tall, and had long brown hair, and maybe her eyes were brown. And Jon didn't care. Because it felt so good to be buried in her, and move his hands over her silky skin, and hear her moan and gasp, and know he'd never have to see her again.

There was nothing complicated about this. He got his needs taken care of, and she could say she was fucked by a famous rock star. By Jon Bon Jovi, no less -- every girl's wet dream.

That's all either of them wanted. There was an understanding. Plain and simple.

When it was over, Jon gave her a kiss on the forehead, because that seemed like a sweet thing to do. Then he made sure she'd be escorted out of the hotel and make it into a cab safely. Because he had a way of doing things.

He managed to keep riding his blissed-out post-orgasm high through his shower and for a while after he settled into bed.

But then, like they always did, the uneasy thoughts started to seep through the veil.

_Why is it I always have to come to you?_

When Richie said it, Jon's first impulse was to argue. But over that long afternoon he'd had to think, the truth became clear. From the first time they'd met, it had been Richie coming to him.

Jon didn't know why, or that it was necessarily wrong. Maybe it was just because Richie was naturally more outgoing, and more reckless.

But maybe, Jon acknowledged, it was also because he, himself, was a coward in some ways. Not when it came time to shake his ass in front of thousands of screaming admirers. But in certain other ways.

Jon flipped onto his side and looked at the clock. Only a little after two a.m. Richie would still be awake. The only question was, would he be alone?

He could call Richie's room. That would be the discreet way to find out. But that wasn't what he needed to do. He needed to just walk up to the door and knock, and then …. He had no idea.

_Fuck._

Jon turned onto his back and blinked at the darkness. He really had no clue what he was doing. But he did know he couldn't go on like this. And he did know it was up to him to do something about it.

He tossed his blanket off.

_What better time than two a.m. in fucking Detroit?_


	5. Chapter 5

Jon felt ridiculously exposed as he crept down the hall, in his boxers and t-shirt -- literally sneaking like he used to when he was fifteen and missed his curfew. He would've laughed if he weren't so nervous.

"Jesus," he whispered to himself. "Calm down." It was just Richie.

Except, Jon realized, in this particular scenario there was no _just._

When he got to the room, he paused to glance up and down the hallway. He was half-expecting Dave to pop up from behind a potted plant, demanding to know why he was going to see Richie at two a.m., in his underwear.

He tried to ignore the slight tremor in his hand as he knocked on the door.

_Please be alone. Please be alone._

He wasn't sure what he'd do if there were some female clone of himself lying in the bed -- or worse, if she opened the door.

"Catfight," he whispered, just to ease his tension.

Luckily, it was Richie who answered, and from the vantage point of the doorway there were no signs of a female presence.

"Hey," Jon greeted, like it wasn't the middle of the night.

Richie just stared, as if he didn't recognize him.

"Um," Jon said, already feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. "Are you busy?"

Richie blinked. "Oh, uh, no. I was just -- You wanna come in?"

Jon nodded. "That would be good. I'm in my underwear."

"Oh, right." Richie ducked his head, clearly a little embarrassed, and Jon breathed a small sigh of relief. He could deal with being clumsy if Richie was in the same boat.

It wasn't until Jon walked in that he smelled the weed and saw the guitar on the bed. He smiled softly. "Quiet night in, huh?"

Richie rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. I wasn't feeling up to a big production tonight."

He held Jon's gaze briefly, then gestured around the room. "Have a seat, man. You wanna hit?"

"Sure." Jon said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He figured it would settle his nerves.

Richie brought him the pipe and lighter, then retreated to a chair by the window.

Jon eyed him as he lit up. He was also stripped down to his boxers, and wearing that Hendrix t-shirt he was so attached to. He sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed and hands folded over his belly -- just looking and waiting.

"Why are you all the way over there?" Jon inquired.

Richie shrugged. "Well, if you're gonna bitch about my playing, I want some distance between us."

Jon winced. "That's not why I'm here," he said, sounding more defensive than he'd intended. Richie just kept watching him.

"I, uh --" Jon looked down at the guitar beside him. "I'm sorry about this morning. I don't know why I did that."

He glanced up and saw that Richie's expression was still impassive. But those brown eyes were boring into him.

Jon swallowed. "Actually," he corrected, "that's not true. I do know why."

Richie's face softened, just a bit, and Jon took that as a signal to continue. "I wasn't trying to punish you. At least not for the reason you think."

He took a deep breath. "I don't _expect_ you to … take care of me. You just always do, y'know? And I don't just mean that way."

Richie bit his lip and nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"I'm just used to you being there," Jon said, because it was the simple truth. "And maybe I've gotten too dependent on that."

Richie was still looking at him, still silent.

Jon sighed impatiently. "Will you please say something? You're starting to freak me out."

Richie's lips twitched, like he was trying to fend off a smile. "OK," he conceded. "I agree that you take me for granted."

Jon exhaled a little laugh. He wasn't expecting such a direct answer.

Richie leaned forward in his seat. "So why did you try to humiliate me in front of the guys today?"

Jon felt a pang of guilt in his chest, and he looked at the guitar again. "Well, I was just pissed because" -- He blew out a breath -- "I was jealous."

As soon as the word was out, Jon noticed how oddly freeing it was. So he said it again. "I was jealous that you were with some stranger instead of me."

Richie stared at him, in what Jon interpreted as disbelief. "Then why not just tell me that?"

Jon screwed up his face. "I couldn't _tell_ you. It's embarrassing. And -- and we were just saying the night before, no jealousy."

This time Richie pulled a face. "Who said that? I just apologized for acting jealous -- because it obviously bothered you. I never said I wouldn't feel that way again."

Richie locked eyes with him. "You can't ban an emotion, Jonny."

Jon was starting to become agitated because he felt stupid -- and he hated feeling stupid. "I know," he said, petulantly. "But we agreed this was just … casual. No hard feelings about anything."

Richie snorted. "I don't remember signing that contract."

Jon rolled his eyes. "That's not what I'm saying." He grappled for the words he needed. "I mean, we started out just messing around. It relieved the stress. And now …"

Richie looked to the side, to a spot on the wall. "I know," he said, quieter now.

Jon waited to see if he'd go on, then spoke hesitantly. "So. Is it not … fun for you anymore?"

Richie smiled ruefully. "Um. Well, it's a lot of fun when we're going at it." He dipped his head. "But the rest of the time …"

He sighed heavily. "Jesus Christ, I'm jealous all the time," he admitted. "All those chicks that swarm around you and wanna touch you. All the ones who do."

He looked at Jon again, and his eyes were shiny. "I'm jealous all the time."

Jon could suddenly feel his own heartbeat. He honestly hadn't realized Richie felt that way.

Richie shook his head. "Like tonight ... When I heard you in the hall with that girl."

Jon sensed another twinge in his chest. He didn't even remember her name. He'd asked, but now he couldn't remember.

"I'm sorry," he said, on impulse.

Richie's eyes widened. "No. That's -- I mean, we both --"

"Rich," Jon cut him off, his throat dry. "Come over here. Please."

Richie gave him a wary look, but slowly rose. Jon waited for him to move his guitar aside and sit near him at the foot of the bed.

"So," Jon began, keeping his eyes on his own feet. "It sounds like we feel good when we're together and kinda miserable when we're not."

Richie worked his jaw for a moment. "Yeah. Sounds like."

Jon shifted to face him. "Doesn't that scare the shit out of you?"

That earned him a surprised little laugh.

"Of course it does," Richie said, angling his head toward Jon, though not fully looking at him. "But … just because something scares you doesn't mean it's wrong."

Jon blinked. It wasn't that simple, he knew. He couldn't just decide to screw what everyone else thinks and tell the world he was done with women because he was doing his guitarist.

_Best friend,_ he amended.

On the other hand, here he was. And he didn't want to leave.

He scooted a little closer to Richie. "I'd like to point out," he said quietly, "that I came to you this time."

Richie was looking at his own hands, but Jon could see a little smile. "I noticed," he replied. "You didn't even bother with pants."

Jon smiled in return. "I wanted to be really obvious."

Richie chuckled softly but then his smile faded. Jon gazed at him for a moment. "I'm sorry you heard me and that girl tonight," he said again. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

"I said it's all right. That's what we do."

Jon put his hand on Richie's leg. "Just let me say I'm sorry, OK?"

Richie kept his gaze on Jon's hand, and gave a slight nod.

"Can I stay?" Jon ventured.

He was taken off guard when Richie shifted and reached out to cup his face with both hands. "Yeah," he murmured before leaning in for a kiss.

It was soft and slow, not at all how they usually started a night. Usually it was a rush to get clothes off, and hands on the most needy body parts. Usually kisses came later, when they were both too high on post-orgasm hormones to be thinking straight.

Eventually Jon found himself on his back, with Richie laying feathery kisses along his jaw until he landed at that spot behind Jon's ear that always made his toes curl.

Jon sighed and slipped his hand under Richie's t-shirt, trailing his fingertips along his spine. He was surprised when he heard Richie's breath hitch from such light contact. Jon smiled a little, vaguely wondering what else he could learn if they took their time -- and were less drunk -- more often.

_More often._

"Lift up a second," Jon murmured, tugging on the hem of Richie's shirt. Slow was good, but he wanted to do it with less fabric between them.

He watched as Richie pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside before ridding himself of his own.

When they laid back down, Jon flipped them so he could straddle Richie. He dipped down to kiss him lightly on the lips, just once, and then again a little deeper -- moaning softly as Richie's hands roamed down his back to squeeze his ass.

Jon threaded his hand into Richie's hair and tilted his head to get better access to his neck. He could hear Richie's breath getting shallow as he kissed and nipped a path downward, pausing to run his tongue around a nipple then gently bite down.

Richie gasped and grabbed a handful of Jon's hair to hold his head in place -- which Jon obliged for another moment before moving to the other nipple.

"God, Jonny," Richie whispered, in a plainly needy way that went straight to Jon's cock.

He lifted his head a bit and smirked. "Can any of your blondes get you going this fast?"

It was douche-y, but he couldn't help it.

He heard a breathy little laugh in response. "I'm so glad I'm not the only one who gets jealous," Richie teased.

Jon smiled into his skin and began to move back up his body, taking tastes along the way. "That girl at the party the other night?" he confessed between nibbles. "I wanted to shove her off the balcony."

He mouthed along Richie's neck before moving to his ear, just to make sure he was heard. "You're mine."

Richie wrapped his legs around Jon's. "I know."

Jon felt a shiver up his spine and he had to stop, laying his head in the curve of Richie's neck. His heart was almost thumping out of his chest and he was sure Richie could feel it.

A warm hand swept up his back. "Jonny?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "Just need a second."

After a moment, Richie shifted, urging Jon to move onto his back so they could switch places. Jon didn't really want to, but then that hot mouth was on him and his brain started to slowly shut down.

Richie made a tortuously slow journey down Jon's body, bypassing his most interested parts in favor of laying the lightest of kisses along his inner thighs. Which felt amazing, but it wasn't long before Jon felt like he might actually die.

"Rich, please," he begged, not even caring about the whine in his voice.

He groaned in relief as his boxers were slipped off and Richie took him in hand.

Jon let himself release into the sensation of that familiar warm hand moving along his shaft in long, sure strokes. He could trust that Richie would know exactly when to run his thumb over the slit -- how to do it all with the perfect, exquisite amount of pressure. It was the kind of knowing, Jon thought, that you only get from being with the same person over and over. And actually caring about them.

Just when Jon thought he was tipping over the edge, the movement stilled. He opened his eyes to look down, and saw Richie gazing at him. There was no smirk, no artifice, no mask. He was just looking at him with such open affection, Jon swore his heart stopped for a second.

Richie gave him a little smile before ducking down to take him into his mouth.

Jon let his head fall back again. "Jesus, Rich," he gasped, grabbing the sheets with one hand and Richie's hair with the other.

Richie responded by humming around his head and reaching to lightly fondle his balls.

"Fuck." Jon dug his heels into the mattress and tried like hell not to buck his hips. He would really, really hate to choke Richie now.

He _needed_ that mouth on him, he suddenly realized -- to a degree that frankly scared him. All of those countless nights in random hotel rooms with random women, no matter how hot they were -- none of them came close to this.

He tightened his grip on Richie's hair, dimly wondering if he was hurting him but also needing to hold on.

When he finally came, his whole body shuddered violently and he felt so light for an instant it was like he might float off the bed. But in the next moment, he had the sense that he was melting, landing back on earth.

_Fuck._

He was hazily aware of Richie making his way back up his body, peppering him with soft kisses before finding his lips and lingering there. Jon sighed into the kiss in such a contented way he probably should have been embarrassed. But at least for now, he didn't care about should.

Eventually Richie rolled onto his back and stretched out, and Jon wearily dragged himself over so he could lay his head on Richie's chest. He just needed a minute to let his breath fall back into rhythm.

He wanted to say something, but for some reason no words came to him.

"Rich," he said faintly.

He felt Richie's hand come to rest at the back of his head, fingertips lightly massaging his scalp.

"I know," he said. And it was enough.


	6. Chapter 6

Cincinnati. Jon wasn't sure if it was a step up or down from Detroit.

He did know, however, that the lack of a scintillating night life would be a good excuse to stay in that evening. He grinned as he finished throwing his clothes into his suitcase. He was alone in his hotel room, so he could smile like an idiot all he wanted.

He'd just tell the guys he wouldn't be joining their bar crawl because he wanted to rest up for the show tomorrow night. And then Richie would casually agree that a quiet night sounded like a great idea.

And then …

Jon wasn't sure of the details, but he felt the need to make up for last night. He'd been so drained after his come-down that he'd only given Richie a pretty run-of-the-mill hand job -- not his best work at all. He definitely needed to up his game.

As he grabbed his toothbrush and all-important hair care tools from the bathroom, he paused in front of the mirror. He looked the same. There were no telltale signs that he'd just decided to exclusively get busy with his male best friend.

That was, at least, what Jon thought they'd decided. They hadn't outright said it or anything. But they rarely said things outright -- unless it was music-related. Or maybe football-related.

And in this case, Jon felt their non-verbal communication had been pretty clear.

He found himself smiling like an idiot again. He knew he'd have to tone it down at breakfast, to avoid arousing suspicion -- because he was never cheery at breakfast. But for the moment, he just let it be.

****

"You gonna eat that or what?" Dave jutted his chin toward the blueberry muffin on Jon's plate.

"Yes," Jon assured him. "Y'know, the Hilton has provided its guests with a large table full of food. You should check it out."

Dave wrinkled his nose. "It's all the way over there. Your muffin is right in front of me."

Richie snorted, and they both looked across the table at him. He was grinning in that doofy way he had. "You wanna taste of Jonny's muffin, Dave?"

Dave squinted. "Dude. I'm not even sure what that means, but it's deeply disturbing."

Richie gave a little shrug and then winked. Jon tried to send him eye daggers, but he'd already gone back to innocently sipping his coffee.

And here, Jon realized, was a potential problem. When Richie was happy -- about a new girlfriend, a new guitar or a fucking blueberry muffin -- he wore it on his sleeve. He was all dimply smiles and dopey jokes. It was a quality Jon had always found annoying and endearing at the same time.

But now he saw its potential to give them away. He made a mental note to have a talk with Richie once they'd settled into the next hotel. Later, when they were alone.

Cincinnati. Jon wasn't sure if it was a step up or down from Detroit.

He did know, however, that the lack of a scintillating night life would be a good excuse to stay in that evening. He grinned as he finished throwing his clothes into his suitcase. He was alone in his hotel room, so he could smile like an idiot all he wanted.

He'd just tell the guys he wouldn't be joining their bar crawl because he wanted to rest up for the show tomorrow night. And then Richie would casually agree that a quiet night sounded like a great idea.

And then …

Jon wasn't sure of the details, but he felt the need to make up for last night. He'd been so drained after his come-down that he'd only given Richie a pretty run-of-the-mill hand job -- not his best work at all. He definitely needed to up his game.

As he grabbed his toothbrush and all-important hair care tools from the bathroom, he paused in front of the mirror. He looked the same. There were no telltale signs that he'd just decided to exclusively get busy with his male best friend.

That was, at least, what Jon thought they'd decided. They hadn't outright said it or anything. But they rarely said things outright -- unless it was music-related. Or maybe football-related.

And in this case, Jon felt their non-verbal communication had been pretty clear.

He found himself smiling like an idiot again. He knew he'd have to tone it down at breakfast, to avoid arousing suspicion -- because he was never cheery at breakfast. But for the moment, he just let it be.

****

"You gonna eat that or what?" Dave jutted his chin toward the blueberry muffin on Jon's plate.

"Yes," Jon assured him. "Y'know, the Hilton has provided its guests with a large table full of food. You should check it out."

Dave wrinkled his nose. "It's all the way over there. Your muffin is right in front of me."

Richie snorted, and they both looked across the table at him. He was grinning in that doofy way he had. "You wanna taste of Jonny's muffin, Dave?"

Dave squinted. "Dude. I'm not even sure what that means, but it's deeply disturbing."

Richie gave a little shrug and then winked. Jon tried to send him eye daggers, but he'd already gone back to innocently sipping his coffee.

And here, Jon realized, was a potential problem. When Richie was happy -- about a new girlfriend, a new guitar or a fucking blueberry muffin -- he wore it on his sleeve. He was all dimply smiles and dopey jokes. It was a quality Jon had always found annoying and endearing at the same time.

But now he saw its potential to give them away. He made a mental note to have a talk with Richie once they'd settled into the next hotel. Later, when they were alone.

_A very thorough talking to,_ he decided, feeling a rush of blood southward at the prospect.

Richie chose that moment to glance up at him, a coy smile playing at his lips. Jon crossed his legs.

Luckily, a distraction arrived in the form of Tico plunking down a huge plate piled high with eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns and God knew what else. A second plate followed, almost spilling over with syrup-laden French toast.

"Jeez, Teek," Dave said. "You leave any food behind?"

Tico nodded. "The fruit."

Richie snorted again, and Dave's attention shifted back to him.

"Why are you in such a good mood?" he demanded, pointing his fork at Richie in an accusing manner. "You were ready to throw yourself out a window last night."

Richie glanced at Jon then shrugged. "I had some really good weed."

Dave feigned a pout. "And you didn't share?"

Richie rolled his eyes. "You probably had your face in some stripper's cleavage at that point." As he reached for the pitcher of orange juice, he added, "And I did let Jon have some."

Jon was suddenly choking on his muffin. He attempted to glare at Richie as he used a napkin to catch the crumbs spewing from his mouth.

Richie leaned forward in his chair. "You OK?"

Jon took a drink of water. "Yeah," he said, casting a meaningful look across the table. "Fine."

"Huh," Dave intoned, as he mopped up the last of his syrup with a piece of toast. "I thought you were with that girl last night. Long brown hair, legs up to Canada."

Jon set his jaw. "I was. Then she left. OK?"

Dave held up a hand. "Yeah, sure. Just asking, man. She was hot."

Richie looked at Jon with a knowing smile. "She sure sounds hot."

Jon tried to glare again, but found he couldn't help smiling a little in return. "Oh, she was. She talked too much, though."

Richie bit his lip, obviously trying not to laugh. And Jon instantly wanted to bite that lip, too.

He only realized he was staring when he heard Dave loudly clearing his throat. "OK, you two have been really fucking weird lately," he declared. "Right, Teek?"

Everyone waited for Tico to finish chewing his food. "Haven't noticed," he replied.

Dave sighed dramatically. "Why do I bother? Where's Alec?"

Tico shrugged.

"Probably still sleeping," Jon said logically. "I'll go see what's up. We gotta leave soon."

He pushed away from the table, relieved to have an excuse to flee Dave's line of questioning -- and the growing discomfort in his pants.

As he walked away, he dimly wondered if all their meals would be this strange from now on.

****

"So. We've gotta set a few rules," Jon said, leaning against his hotel room door.

On the way to Cincinnati, he'd decided he needed to lay down the law sooner rather than later. That meant getting down to business as soon as Richie got to his room, before he could cause any distractions.

Richie, apparently, hadn't caught the business vibe, because he casually strolled over to Jon's bed and flopped down.

"Ugh," he bitched. "The mattresses in Cincinnati are definitely subpar."

"Did you hear me?" Jon said, crossing his arms. "I wanna set some things straight."

Richie rolled onto his belly and propped his chin on his hand, giving Jon a look of exaggerated attentiveness. "OK, I'm listening."

Jon stepped closer to the bed and tried to adopt a stern expression.

"First of all, you can't flirt with me in front of the guys."

Richie pushed his bottom lip out. "Not sure what you mean."

Jon sighed. "At breakfast. You talked about my muffin and you kept smiling."

"Are you saying I can't smile or talk about breakfast foods?"

Jon rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. It was the _way_ you did it. And you told Dave we were together last night."

Richie made a _so what?_ face. "I just said we smoked some weed. He thinks the only action you got was that girl … who apparently looks just like me."

He flashed a smug smile.

Jon flapped a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, my secret's out. I like you -- for reasons I can't remember right now."

Richie's smile evolved into something more suggestive. "I'd be happy to remind you."

Jon felt his belly do a slow flip-flop. He was very interested in a reminder. But first things first.

"OK, so no flirting in front of the guys," he repeated.

"Fine," Richie agreed, flipping onto his back.

"Hey," Jon said. "I'm not done. Can you look at me, please?"

Richie angled his head awkwardly to look back at him. "You're awfully bossy." He turned his attention back to the ceiling. "Why don't you come over here and look at _me?_ "

Jon blinked. _Jesus Christ._

He sighed heavily to convey his annoyance, but did as requested. When he came to stand over Richie, he was greeted with a dopey grin.

"Thank you," Richie said, in that weird accent he favored -- some cross between Hungarian and Indian, as far as Jon could tell.

Jon refused to smile. "I'm bossy because I'm the boss," he said matter-of-factly.

Richie raised an eyebrow. "Not off-stage you're not," he replied, back to full-on Jersey drawl.

Jon raised both eyebrows. "You think you are?"

"Nope. There is no boss off-stage."

Jon's impulse was to argue that point, but he thought better of it. He didn't want things to get blown out of proportion. So he settled for some middle ground.

"OK," he agreed mildly. "But in this particular moment, I'm in charge. Can I get back to the rules?"

Richie eyed him for a moment before answering. "'Kay. Jonny-Take-Charge is kinda hot."

Jon swallowed. _Focus._

"Second rule," he said, the slightest strain in his voice. "No telling the guys, 'Jon and I smoked weed all night,' or whatever. It just calls attention to the fact that we both stayed in."

Richie rolled his eyes.

"I mean it," Jon insisted. "Third, no homoerotic jokes."

"Oh, come on."

"Fourth," Jon continued, "watch the public touching. You get hands-y, so just make sure it doesn't get weird."

Richie just stared.

"Oh, and one more," Jon suddenly remembered. "The flirting thing includes non-verbal stuff. You can't be giving me those looks at the breakfast table. And don't lick your lips."

"What if I have food on them?" Richie objected.

"Use a napkin."

Richie threw an arm over his forehead like a drama queen. "You're nuts."

Jon held up his hands. "I just mean when we're with other people … Oh, and don't bite your lip, either."

Richie lifted his head a bit and glared. "You cannot be serious. What's wrong with that?"

Jon shrugged. "I dunno. It's just the way you do it."

Richie let his head fall back to the bed. "Anything else?"

Jon felt a smile tugging at his lips. "I think that's it for now."

"Great." Richie pushed up to sit. "My turn."

Jon's mouth almost fell open. "Since when do you have rules?"

"I have them." Richie actually looked a little offended. "I just don't list them and demand that others follow them."

Jon crossed his arms. "OK. Let's hear your list."

Richie looked off to the side. "Well," he hesitated, "there's just one. And it's more like a proposed rule."

Jon waited, but Richie suddenly seemed consumed by the clock on the nightstand.

"Yeah?" Jon prompted.

"Um," Richie began, and Jon could swear his cheeks were coloring. "I think there should be a rule that you can't hook up with girls who look like me."

Jon felt his gut clench. He wasn't sure where this was going, but it sounded like --

"Actually," Richie went on, "I think there should be a rule that you can't hook up with any girls for a while. And neither can I." He glanced at Jon, looking a little nervous. "Like a trial run, y'know?"

Jon almost laughed out of relief, but managed to contain it. "Uh, OK. That sounds like a good rule."

Richie looked up at him with such surprise that this time Jon did laugh. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he demanded. "Didn't we kinda decide on the _trial run_ last night?"

Richie pulled a face. "Well, I thought it would be more clear if we used actual words."

Jon just smiled. Like an idiot, he imagined, but he was surprisingly OK with that.

"I just remembered one more rule," he murmured, stepping forward to insinuate himself between Richie's legs. "You can't sprawl yourself out on my bed like that unless you're planning on givin' me some."

Richie made a show of biting his lip before answering. "Luckily, that's my plan," he confirmed, reaching up to pull Jon down on top of him.

It was a less than graceful descent, but Jon quickly pulled himself together and gave Richie a few soft kisses before pausing to suck on his lower lip. The lip he'd been staring at during breakfast.

In the back of his mind, Jon had a sense he was in deep trouble. But as he felt fingertips skim down his spine, he couldn't be bothered to care.

He moved to kiss along Richie's jaw, toward his earlobe, moaning softly as their hips started to rock together.

And then he heard the knock on the door.

"Shit!" Jon would've leapt to his feet, if Richie's arms weren't keeping him more or less in place.

"Jonny, you in there?" It was Dave's voice.

"Shit, shit," he whisper-yelled as he awkwardly pulled himself away from Richie, who somehow seemed unfazed.

"Just ignore him," Richie said, reaching up to grasp Jon's arm.

Jon swatted at him as Dave knocked again. "Sit up. Fix your shirt."

He turned toward the door. "Just a minute!"

He looked back to Richie, who was slowly doing as ordered. Jon ran his hands through his own hair and rubbed his lips together, like he could erase the kissing evidence. "Do I look all right?"

Richie nodded solemnly. "I did not get any lipstick on you."

Jon gave him The Eye before moving to let Dave in.

"Here's the plan tonight, boss," Dave bellowed, pushing past Jon as soon as he'd opened the door.

He halted when he saw Richie, who was now sitting cross-legged on the bed.

"Oh hey, Rich," Dave greeted, with an odd smile. He turned to Jon. "Am I interrupting something?"

Jon bristled at the tone of Dave's voice. It was … off somehow.

"Naw, man," Richie piped up. "We're just figuring out what to do for dinner."

"Well, ponder no more," Dave replied. "Alec and I have our itinerary planned. It involves steaks and titties."

"Sooo, just like every other night," Richie observed.

Dave tsked. "Such a limited mindset, Sambora. Every night is unique, just like every titty."

Jon cleared his throat. "Actually, I think I'm just gonna order room service and turn in early."

Dave looked crestfallen. "Aw, man, come on. You've been a recluse lately."

Jon felt a twinge of guilt. "I know, I just feel like my voice is hanging by a thread. I need some sleep."

It wasn't exactly a lie. His recent string of sleepless nights had taken a toll.

Dave sighed and looked at Richie. "You're in, though, right?"

Richie hesitated and glanced at Jon. "Um. Well, I haven't been sleeping, either. I think room service sounds good."

At first, Dave just gaped. Then he started to look back and forth between them, narrowing his eyes. Jon didn't like the expression on his face.

"OK," Dave gave in. "I'll tell the guys it's just us then."

"Sorry, man," Jon said, walking toward the door, in an unsubtle hint.

Dave waved him off. "No, I get it," he said, following Jon. "You're tired."

He paused in the doorway and wagged his finger at Jon. "But tomorrow after the show, you guys are goin' out with us if I have to drag you."

Jon nodded. "Tomorrow, definitely."

Dave looked back over his shoulder, the weird little smile returning. "G'night, Rich. Don't stay up too late."

Jon closed the door and leaned his forehead on it.

"He thinks something's up," he muttered.

Richie scoffed. "Come on, Jon. Why would he think that? You and I have always been … close."

Jon turned around. "Did you notice the looks he was giving us?"

Richie gave a little shrug. "He was shocked at our lack of interest in steaks and tits. Which is reasonable."

Jon cursed under his breath. What if Dave really suspected something? Would he freak out? Would he tell people?

"Jonny," Richie said, in that knowing way. "I can see the little stories you're spinning in your head."

Jon walked toward the bed. "You're not worried about what the guys would do if …"

Richie sighed. "I can't get worked up about _if._ I'd go crazy."

He stood and moved into Jon's personal space. "What can I do to get you in a good mood again?"

Jon went a little weak in the knees at the tone of Richie's voice -- which made him feel slightly ridiculous, and also really horny.

Richie cupped his face in both hands and leaned in for a gentle kiss. "That help?" he whispered when he pulled away.

Jon licked his lips. "You'll have to do better."

Richie smiled before moving in for a deeper dive. Jon wrapped his arms around him and started shifting them toward the bed. He could wait till later to worry about the band and their future and life as he knew it.

When they hit the edge of the bed, Jon backed off a bit and unceremoniously shoved Richie onto it.

"Where were we?" he asked as he peeled off his t-shirt.

Richie laughed. "You seem to be on track," he said, before chucking his own shirt into the stratosphere.

He moved higher up on the bed and gave Jon a blatant come-hither stare. Jon obliged, crawling up until he was straddling Richie on hands and knees. But when he saw those eyes gazing up at him, with something he was afraid to name, he had to pause.

He'd tried on a few occasions to ask Richie a certain question, and had chickened out every time. But now, he realized, if they were really going to try this new understanding, maybe the right time had finally come.

"Hey, uh, I wanted to ask you …"

"The answer's 'yes,'" Richie said, trying to pull him down.

Jon chuckled. "Wait a second." He moved to lie on his side next to Richie -- so he could see him but not have to look directly into his eyes.

"I was just wondering," he murmured, running his hand over Richie's chest, "if we could try something."

Richie angled his head toward him. "What?"

"Um." Jon felt a heat gathering in the pit of his belly. "Just something new." He found he couldn't say exactly what he wanted, so he chose his words carefully. "I'll do all the work. And if you wanna stop, just say so."

Richie turned to face him. "What do you want?"

Jon's cheeks were burning. "Just … Can I show you?"

Richie pressed his lips together, and Jon could see the uncertainty in his eyes. So he reached out to stroke his cheek.

"You trust me, right?"

Richie's expression immediately softened. "Yeah. Sure."

The simple declaration triggered a flutter in Jon's chest, and he moved in for a quick kiss. "Just a second," he whispered, hearing the nerves in his own voice.

He'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit -- despite the casual "trial run" talk -- that there'd been a nagging voice in the back of his mind for the last three months.

It usually said things like, _But I'm not gay._

He wasn't, he knew. And Richie sure as hell wasn't. So Jon was a little afraid of pushing him a step too far. But he also wanted to … be open to possibilities. He grabbed the trusty bottle of lube from his bag and turned back to the bed.

Richie was lying on his back, tapping his fingers on his belly -- trying so hard to look casual it was almost comical. Jon smiled a little.

Possibilities.


	7. Chapter 7

It was funny, Jon thought, how much easier it was to use words -- or certain ones -- when they were mostly naked. Maybe because they were both preoccupied with physical sensations, it seemed safer to say some things.

If he uttered something dumb, or unacceptably romantic, he could count on it being forgotten -- or at least attributable to his cock, or lack of blood flow to his brain.

"I was kinda selfish last night," Jon found himself confessing as he kissed along Richie's collarbone. "I wanna make it up to you."

Richie's breath hitched. "Sounds good."

Jon smiled as he continued nibbling. He was tasting a different flavor than he was used to, and it was starting to consume his attention.

"You taste good," he mumbled. "That's not hotel soap."

Richie tensed, just enough to be noticeable. "Um … I bought some stuff."

_Huh._

Jon inhaled then licked a line along Richie's breastbone, eliciting a shiver. "Tastes like …" He lifted up as it struck him. "Coconut?"

Richie darted his eyes to side, and Jon's smile widened.

"Did you buy coconut _shower gel_ to taste good for me?"

That earned him a scowl, but no denial.

Jon waggled his eyebrows then dove down again to mouth a path southward. "Don't be embarrassed," he cooed before circling his tongue around Richie's navel. He poked the tip in, for just a tease, and heard a sharp inhale.

He paused to catch Richie's eye. "It's brilliant. Makes me wanna lick you all over."

Richie moaned and laid a hand on the back of Jon's head. "Then get to it."

He clearly wanted the taste test to keep traveling downward, but Jon wasn't ready for that yet.

Instead he moved up again to suckle on a nipple. When he sensed Richie's breath quickening, he bit down, getting a hiss in response. But he knew, from experience, it was more from ecstasy than pain.

"Sorry," he murmured anyway, meandering toward the other nipple. "It was just so coconut-y good."

Richie let out a shaky sigh. "You're not gonna let that go, are you?"

Jon was too busy to answer. As much as he enjoyed the mocking, he had to admit Richie had never tasted this good. And he wasn't sure it was entirely related to girly shower choices.

He bit down again, causing Richie to arch up with a little yelp this time. So he used his tongue to ease the sting -- because he was nice like that.

"I'll --" Richie panted, "I'll try to be more manly next time … Steak-scented shower gel."

Jon couldn't help laughing. And honestly, he was grateful for the banter, since it was overriding his nerves. He started to inch up, and Richie shamelessly tilted his head back to expose that hot spot on his neck.

"Steak? Be careful," Jon warned as he nuzzled Richie's neck. "I'll fucking devour you."

He felt fingers thread into his hair. "Christ, Jonny."

Richie wrapped a leg around Jon's and rolled his hips, sending a jolt of electricity along Jon's spine.

"Fuck," Jon breathed. He was suddenly ready to get on with it.

He moved his lips to Richie's ear. "You want my mouth?"

"God, yes."

Jon kissed the sensitive skin behind the ear, then used his teeth to gently tug on the lobe.

"Jonny," Richie almost whimpered.

Jon shifted to the other ear, exhaling a hot breath before whispering, "You want more than my mouth?"

It felt like Richie stopped breathing altogether.

Jon lay a few light kisses along his neck, partly so he didn't have to look at him. "I just." He closed his eyes and breathed in that scent. "I think I can make you feel amazing if you let me inside. Just fingers."

Still no response, and Jon started to feel a little panicky.

"I mean, it's fine if you don't want to," he added hurriedly, head still buried in the crook of Richie's neck. "I just thought …"

"No," Richie finally answered, his voice thick. "I, uh -- I want it."

Jon's eyes flew open, and for a moment he was paralyzed by a simultaneous flood of lust and fear.

_Shit._

Now he had to fucking do it -- and well. His heart was pounding as he lifted up to see Richie's face. Predictably, he was biting his lip.

"You ever --" Jon began, "you ever have a girl do it?"

Richie shook his head slightly, looking embarrassed. "No, I -- I guess I always thought …"

"They'd tell you it's 'gay'?" Jon guessed.

Richie cast his eyes to the side. "I dunno. Something like that."

Jon studied him for a moment. "You don't have to," he repeated, wanting to be sure. "I won't take it personally or anything."

Richie looked at him, this time directly into his eyes, before pulling him into an unusually urgent kiss.

It went express to Jon's groin.

_OK … OK._

He sort of knew what he was doing. He'd had a girlfriend who was into anal play so he knew how it felt. Of course, he'd never done it to another guy -- or even to himself. But he was pretty confident he could find the buried treasure.

The problem was, it was Richie, and he wanted it to be perfect. Or at least not so awful it would turn him off forever.

Jon felt Richie's body quivering as he began to kiss his way downward again, and he knew it was from the same tangle of emotions he was feeling. It was comforting in a weird way.

Jon slowed to linger in that zone right below Richie's navel, pushing the waistband of his sweats down just a little -- knowing it was a sure-fire way to drive him crazy.

As if on cue, he made a little whining sound and slid a hand into Jon's hair again.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"Definitely not," Jon answered honestly.

He relented and began to carefully slide the sweats over Richie's burgeoning erection, and then all the way off.

He started with what he knew, what was organic to them both. He'd become pretty adept at using his hands and mouth to turn Richie into a babbling mess, make him almost completely lower his defenses.

And despite what most people thought, he did have defenses. That was one of the things Jon had learned over these past couple months.

Richie naturally preferred to be the one taking care of the other person. It was like he had all his self-esteem wrapped up in it. Getting him to just relax and receive could be like pulling teeth.

Except way more fun, Jon thought as he licked a long stripe along the underneath side of Richie's cock.

Eventually, he engulfed him and found a rhythm -- using well-practiced flicks of his tongue to get Richie moaning without reservation. When Jon felt himself getting hard from the sounds, he knew he'd better move on for both of their sakes.

He pulled off and patted Richie's thigh, urging him to draw his knees up. He couldn't help noticing the instant change in Richie's breathing, and how his body seemed to instinctively resist the vulnerable position.

"If you want me to stop, just say so," Jon reminded, as he rubbed a generous amount of lube between his palms to warm it.

Richie sighed testily. "Just do it."

"Dang," Jon gently admonished. "You call me bossy."

He felt a little weight lift as Richie huffed a laugh. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm … kinda nervous."

"I know," Jon said softly, as he leaned in and began to stroke him again.

Another sigh, but this time he sensed some of the tension draining from Richie's body. Jon leaned down to mouth his balls, to aid in the cause. Only when he'd drawn a familiar deep groan did he venture to trail a fingertip toward that place he'd never touched.

That no one had touched, Jon remembered -- feeling an unexpected thrill at the thought. He rubbed himself against the mattress to get some relief.

At first, he just glided his finger back and forth, lightly circling it around Richie's opening a few times -- savoring the little sounds that each pass triggered. When he finally did start to slip in, Richie immediately stiffened and shifted away.

"Sorry," he whispered hoarsely.

Jon lifted his head. "S'alright."

He ran his free hand along Richie's outer thigh. "Can you lift up again?"

His voice was strangely gentle to his own ears. He knew, for damn sure, he'd never used that tone with Richie before -- and he was half-expecting to get a "Fuck off" for it.

But Richie simply blew out a breath and drew his knees up. And something about the action -- the trust -- made Jon's chest ache.

"Just try to relax," he soothed, partly to buy himself a moment.

Richie stared at him. "Oh, good idea," he said, the _duh_ reading loud and clear.

Jon smiled in sympathy. "I know. I had to say it, OK?"

Richie gave him a little smile in return, and Jon bent down again to take him in his mouth. This time, when he reached his finger back he met less resistance and was able to slip just inside.

That drew a sharp hiss.

Jon lifted up so he could see his face. "You OK, baby?"

He immediately cringed at the term of endearment. He hadn't meant to say it.

Luckily, Richie didn't seem to notice. "Uh, yeah," he panted.

"OK," Jon murmured, pushing a little farther in -- silently praying he did, in fact, know what the fuck he was doing.

Richie's chest started to heave, and Jon whispered "OK" again, mostly to himself. That's when he reached what felt like that blessed little knob of tissue.

_Thank baby Jesus._

He hooked his finger and began to lightly stroke side to side. If he had any doubts left, they were swept away when Richie's entire body seemed to go rigid.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped. "What …"

"OK?" Jon asked. for what seemed like the thousandth time.

Richie just kept panting, so Jon resumed his ministrations.

"Fuck," Richie choked out again. He fisted the sheet beside him and pushed his hips up a little. "Jonny."

Jon kissed his inner thigh. "Tell me what you want."

Richie tossed his head to the side, and shut his eyes tightly. "Ahh. I … just more."

Jon smiled and did as ordered -- this time pulling a groan from somewhere deep in Richie's chest. That made Jon even harder and he wasted no time wrapping his lips around Richie's cock again, needing to feel the sensation of taking him in.

He heard Richie unleash a string of whispered curses to the ceiling as he drew his knees up higher and landed his calves on Jon's shoulders.

_Oh god._ Jon felt like his brain was short-circuiting, but the rest of his body was almost painfully pulsing.

He hummed around Richie's cock as he moved over that spot inside again and again, each time daring to go a little harder. Until Richie slapped his palm down on the bed.

"Jesus. Like that," he pleaded. "Do it like that."

Jon was sure his brain was melting now. But he kept going. At some point he heard Richie say his name, in what sounded almost like a sob, and he knew he'd managed to completely unravel him. He nearly came just from that knowledge.

When Richie finally came, Jon took it all in.

He felt dazed as he gently pulled out and laid his head on Richie's belly. He was so out of it, he barely registered what was happening when Richie flipped him onto his back and yanked his sweats down.

He snapped back to reality, however, when that hot wet mouth closed around him.

Jon moaned in sheer relief. He couldn't remember ever being so ready, and he knew this was going to be over in record time. But he didn't have the energy to be embarrassed -- he just needed release.

So he almost whined outright when Richie pulled off of him.

"Before I forget," he told Jon, breathlessly. "You'll, uh, have to give me some lessons on your techniques sometime." He used his fingertips to tease just behind Jon's balls. "Or maybe just one. I'm good with my fingers."

Jon shivered as Richie dipped his head down again. _Jesus, those fingers._ He'd give Richie all the fucking practice sessions he wanted.

That was his last coherent thought before he came.

Afterward, they lay in silence for a while, nothing but the sounds of their breathing filling the space. And Jon was fine with that. With the girls, he almost always wanted to fill the void with words -- which was really just a prelude to getting them out the door.

But for right now, he was comfortable with things as they were. And that was oddly terrifying.

Eventually, Jon felt the bed shift, and he opened his eyes to watch Richie slowly get up and drag himself to the bathroom.

He returned a minute later with a washcloth, but Jon was too tired to even bother. So Richie took care of him before collapsing. Like so many nights before, he laid his head on Jon's chest and used his fingertips to trace lazy circles on his belly.

Jon looked at him -- at the back of his head, actually. And it suddenly dawned on him that Richie always chose that position for a reason: to make it easier to talk without self-consciousness.

Jon cleared his throat. "Hey," he whispered. "Don't fall asleep yet."

"I'm not," Richie said faintly.

"Um." Jon hesitated. He hated feeling, and especially appearing, needy. But he had to make sure.

"Was that good?"

Richie chuckled. "Was I too subtle?"

Jon smiled -- partly because he had somehow become the post-sex survey-taker. But he had another question, and he needed to ask it now.

"Hey," he said again, tapping Richie's head.

"Yes?"

"So, that girl I was with the other night -- the female you?"

He thought he sensed Richie tense a little.

"Yeah?"

Jon drew a shaky breath. "When I was with her, I kept thinking about, y'know … being with you that way."

He braced himself but no response came. Richie just kept running his fingertips in the same circles.

Jon licked his lips and tried again. "Have you ever thought about it?"

The tracing stilled. "Of course," Richie answered simply.

Jon felt the bottom of his belly drop out.

Oh.

"S-so." He paused, trying to gain control over his voice. "Do you think you'd wanna try it? I mean, not now," he added with an awkward-sounding laugh. "Just sometime."

Richie was silent for a long moment. Then he kissed Jon's belly. "Yeah," he said softly.

Jon felt a little dizzy. Too much blood flow away from his head, he figured.

"Great," he replied, wincing as soon as the word left his lips.

It sounded so ridiculous. _You got Giants tickets? Great. … You're gonna let me ram your ass? Great._

But if Richie noticed, he didn't say anything. He just nestled a little closer into Jon's side.

"M'tired," he mumbled.

Jon rubbed his fingertips against Richie's scalp. "OK."

Somehow he was able to reach the bedside lamp then settle back into the pillows without disturbing their setup. He felt exhausted but wide awake -- probably from the mix of hormones, contentment and fear, he supposed.

He touched his fingertips to Richie's head once more. "'Night."

He felt those soft lips graze his belly.

"G'night … baby."

****

He hoped Dave was happy. He was in a packed, smoke-filled Cincinnati bar at two a.m., listening to some shit band, wearing sunglasses like a douchebag so the drunk chicks might not notice he's ohmygod Jon Bon Jovi … all so Dave would get off his case, and possibly be persuaded that he was not, in fact, doing their guitarist.

The irony was that the only thing he wanted to be doing right now was, in fact, their guitarist. Who was currently nowhere to be seen.

Jon sighed and polished off his beer. Everything around him was so ordinary but felt surreal.

The show that night had been the same way. Around the halfway point, he'd had this realization that the array of cleavage on display before him was truly magnificent. Possibly the greatest titty lineup he'd ever seen. Those girls had come from far and wide, decked themselves out, and were prepared to spend hours vying for his attention. He could literally have any and all of them.

Except that he couldn't. And no one, save for two people, would know why.

He'd known that was the understanding, of course. But it wasn't until right then, on stage, that it fully struck him. For the first time in a long time, he could look but not touch.

And the strangest part was that he only felt a fleeting disappointment. He hadn't expected it to be that easy. And maybe it really wouldn't be -- it was just one night, after all. But for the moment, things felt … good.

Well, OK, in this particular moment, things were fucking annoying, Jon amended.

It was all just irritating -- the noise, the heat, the fact that Richie had disappeared a fucking half-hour ago …

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and even through his leather jacket he knew that touch.

"Hey," Richie said as Jon swiveled to face him.

"Where've you been?" Jon asked, hoping he sounded best-friend casual.

Richie rolled his eyes and leaned in to speak near Jon's ear. "Trying to find my will to live. They're fucking terrible," he said, hooking his thumb toward the stage.

"Yep," Jon agreed. "You want another drink?"

Richie shifted his weight impatiently. "Naw, I wanna leave, man."

"Me, too. But remember? We promised Dave it was boys' night out."

Richie snorted. "Well, right now, he's all up on something that is definitely not a boy."

He glanced around, then sidled up even closer to Jon. "I'm more into boys' night in," he said lowly, before stepping back and winking like a doofus.

Jon shook his head. More than once, he'd marveled at Richie's ability to perfectly embody a pure dork one moment, and sex on legs the next.

"Again, me, too," Jon said. He signaled for Richie to come closer so he could dial his voice down. "I don't think we should leave together, though."

Richie sighed. "Jonny, are you really gonna make us sneak around like sex ninjas?"

Jon _shushed_ him then took a quick look around. It didn't seem like anyone had heard.

So he raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. That sounds fucking hot."

Richie smiled in that way, and Jon felt a little surge of blood southward.

"I guess it does," Richie agreed.

Jon was busy trying to come up with some ninja-sex pun when he heard Dave's bellow.

"Gentlemen!" He pulled up beside Richie and tossed an arm around his shoulders. "Welcome back to the world."

"Hell," Jon corrected. "It's hell."

Dave furrowed his brow. "Are you referring to the musical stylings of Bathtub Gin?"

Jon nodded.

"OK, you got me there," Dave admitted. "Let's go somewhere else. There's a ton of alcohol left in this town."

Jon bobbed his head side to side. "Or we could go back to the hotel. Rich has enough weed to get a whole army high."

_And then you can pass out, and Richie and I can fuck._

Dave looked dumbfounded. "You wanna stay in and smoke? When did you turn forty?"

Jon rolled his eyes. "I'm just tired, man. Sorry."

Dave shook his head. "It's my fault. We shoulda gone gentleman's club right off the bat. C'mon, let's go. I'll get Teek and Al."

Jon glanced at Richie, who was clearly letting him take the lead on this one, then looked back to Dave.

"Fine," he relented.

Once Dave had skittered away, Jon turned on Richie. "Coulda used some help there," he bitched, vaguely aware of how couple-y it sounded.

Richie shrugged. "He misses us."

Then he leaned in so close, his breath tickled Jon's ear. "And there's always tomorrow."

Jon felt a little shiver -- not only from the physical closeness, but from the implication, that it wasn't _just_ tomorrow. He had to resist the urge to touch Richie in some way that was not friend-like.

Richie apparently felt it, too, because he abruptly stepped back. "Ready?" he chirped.

Jon smiled softly. He was.

He slid off the bar stool, and as he passed he brushed his fingertips across the back of Richie's hand. "Sex Ninjas would be a great name for a band," he murmured along the way.

Richie laughed and followed him, close behind, out into the night air.

END


End file.
